


Possible (24/39?)

by Mexta



Series: Possible [24]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M, post-412
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-21
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-18 07:18:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2339843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mexta/pseuds/Mexta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skinning a cat (metaphorically)<br/>This part only:  Decidedly NSFW</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possible (24/39?)

“ _Mickey_! Wait up!”

Mickey didn’t slow his stride, intent on reaching the corner in time to flag down a cab he saw approaching on the larger street. 

"What’s wrong?" Ian caught up to Mickey and grabbed one of his arms, as Mickey lifted the other one to signal. "Are you okay?"

"Course I’m okay." The cab sped by, ignoring them, and it occurred to Mickey, too late, that the average driver might be reluctant to stop for two bare-chested men in the middle of the night. He glanced over and saw with relief that Ian was carrying their shirts — he must have been smart enough to grab them off the railing on their way out. 

Mickey yanked his button-up out of Ian’s hand and shrugged it on as another cab appeared at the far end of the street. He stepped off the sidewalk, determined not to miss this one. “Put your shirt on,” he ordered over his shoulder.

There was a brief pause and then Ian asked again, his voice slightly muffled by the fabric, “Did something happen?”

Thankfully the car slowed down this time, and Mickey glanced back again to make sure Ian was with him. “ _C’mon_.”

"What — a cab?" Ian’s head emerged from the neck of his t-shirt. "You crazy? We can’t afford — "

"I’m not taking the fucking El with this hard-on," Mickey said. He seized Ian’s arm and shoved him toward the stopped car. "Get in."

Ian shot him a look, then shut his mouth and did as he was told. Mickey followed him into the backseat and gave the driver his address. As the cab cruised down Lakeshore, Mickey mentally debated between paying the fare and running for it.

After a minute Ian prodded his ribs. “Mickey. Why didn’t you … “

"Later, man."

Ian fell silent, and Mickey reluctantly concluded that neither of them were in any state to run. He began trying to calculate how much cash he had left; the bills were in his front pocket, and with the current state of his dick he didn’t trust himself to reach in there.

"You mad?" Ian asked after a few minutes.

Mickey really wished Ian would stop talking, so he leaned over to kiss him. It worked. After a second Ian began kissing back, and Mickey snaked a hand around the back of his head and held him close for a long time. When they finally moved apart, Mickey caught the driver’s gaze flicking away from them in the rear view mirror. Ian seemed too stunned to speak.

The car pulled off Roosevelt, and Mickey told the driver to let them out; they were close enough to walk from here. On the sidewalk, he managed to extricate a couple of bills from his pocket and shoved them through the driver’s window. The car pulled away and Mickey turned around to find Ian blocking his path.

"Mickey. You gonna talk to me or what?"

"Yes, I’m gonna talk. Inside. Let’s move."

He actually he had no idea what he was going to say, but the promise seemed to satisfy Ian for now. They loped down the street to the Milkovich house, let themselves in quietly, and made their way to Mickey’s room. Ian stayed silent until the bedroom door shut behind them.

Then he stood against the wall and folded his arms stubbornly. “So what happened?” he demanded. “Did that guy do something?”

Mickey had already started stripping off his clothes. “Course he did. What’d you think was going to happen?”

“ _Fuck_ … ” Ian grimaced and reached out for Mickey’s arm. “I’m sorry! Did he try to — force you?”

Mickey laughed. “No, man … Is that what you’re worried about? You think I couldn’t take him?” He kicked his jeans off and looked down at his shorts, which tented out in front of him. “Anyway, he stopped when I told him to.”

"Then … " Ian looked nonplussed. "What’s the problem?"

"The _problem_ ,” Mickey said, gesturing toward his groin, “Is that my dick’s harder’n titanium and I need to get off.”

"So why didn’t you do it with Sam?"

"Because I didn’t fuckin’ want to bang Sam! I wanted — I want — _you_.”

For a second they both stared at each other, speechless; then Ian plunked himself down on the end of the bed. “Jesus, Mickey. When did you get so _romantic_?”

"Not romantic," Mickey mumbled. Though he could see how it would look that way. He reached for his pants and found a half-empty pack of cigarettes in the pocket.

"You’ve been hooking up with other guys ever since this all — " Ian waved vaguely, sort of at himself, "started. But when I try to help you out … all of a sudden you can’t do it any more?"

It’s not like Mickey understood it either. But how did Ian expect him to focus on solving that mystery when all he could think about was the aching stiffness between his legs? 

"I dunno, Ian. All I know is I gotta do something about this boner and I don’t wanna do it with a stranger." Mickey lit a cigarette, took a drag, then handed it to Ian. "So look," he went on, standing at the end of the bed and facing Ian. "I can either go to the bathroom and jack off in private, or … or you can help me out."

Ian’s eyes widened for a second, and then he frowned. “I want to, but you know I can’t even get it up right now.”

"There’s more than one way to skin a cat," Mickey said firmly.

Ian handed the cigarette back and looked away. “You want me to blow you, Mick?”

Mickey shook his head. “I’ll take a rain check for when you’re more into it. Listen. I can take care of myself if you want, no hard feelings.” He smirked at his pun, then bumped Ian’s knee with his own. “I’m just saying, you’re more than a hard dick to me. I need to get off once in a while and I’d rather you were part of it. But it’s up to you, man. No pressure.”

Ian smiled slowly. “I want to be part of it.”

"Good. Then … " Mickey paused to lick his suddenly dry lips. "Then you could start by taking your clothes off."

Ian held Mickey’s gaze for a moment then reached for the back of his shirt, pulled it over his head and dropped it onto the floor. Mickey watched, mesmerized, as Ian stood up to unbutton his jeans. 

Of course they got undressed every night, but this time it seemed different, and not just because Mickey was boned up. There was a kind of deliberateness in Ian’s movements, like he was conscious of being on display. Mickey crushed out the cigarette and stepped back, amazed at being able to watch Ian openly, and finally — for the first time that night — enjoying the way his own cock swelled with appreciation.

Ian faced Mickey as he let his pants, and then his shorts, drop to the floor. He stepped out of them, one foot at a time, moving in closer to stand toe to toe with Mickey. Mickey could feel his mouth open slightly as he slid both hands along the length of Ian’s warm, down-covered chest, to his belly and then out to his hips. Even though not much was happening below there besides a couple of small twitches, the freedom to touch at will was liberating. 

Ian leaned down so they could press their lips together and Mickey couldn’t help digging his fingers into Ian’s buttocks and pushing his own hips forward for a bit of friction. Then Ian dropped his hands to the waistband of Mickey’s undershorts and stepped back with a slightly pointed smile.

Fair enough, Mickey thought; though his weren’t going to slide off as easily as Ian’s had. He had to pull the elastic away from his body, exposing his upright cock, before he could push the fabric down. With his skin now bare he moved up close again, rubbing the underside of his erection against Ian’s hips. Even without reciprocation the movement felt good, and Mickey repeated it a couple of time, holding Ian close with hands on his hips. 

But it wasn’t just his cock that wanted stimulation. After a few minutes of agreeable sensation, Mickey pulled himself away and walked over to the closet, acutely conscious of Ian’s gaze on his ass. He reached up for an innocuous-looking box on the top shelf and brought it back to the bed. 

"And no," he grinned at Ian, as he pulled out the wooden beads from the box. "It’s not a rosary."

Ian took the string out of Mickey’s hand. “I remember. Shove ‘em in your ass and pull ‘em out real slow. Right?”

"Right." Mickey fumbled through the box for the bottle of lube. "Might need a little of this too."

"Okay. Think I get this." Ian took both items and stood looking at Mickey with a small smile. "So? How do you wanna do this? Hands and knees on the bed?"

Mickey didn’t need to be invited twice. He scrambled up the bed and turned over, rising onto his knees and spreading his legs. His cock sprang up against his belly in anticipation, and he felt Ian’s hand between his shoulderblades, guiding him into position with his forearms against the bed. A moment later came the cold, wet push of lube and his dick bobbed down a little in response. 

"The beads too," Mickey instructed, turning his head to watch.

"In a sec … "

The lube had already warmed up, and Ian was working a couple of fingers gently inside him. Mickey squirmed a little and said, “That’s good. That’s plenty. The beads.”

He could hear Ian laughing quietly above him. “You ever shut up?”

"Fuck you. It’s my show."

"And you know what you want … " 

Ian’s hands left his body, leaving Mickey shivering in anticipation. He could hear the beads clicking against each other and a faint smoothing sound.

"How many, Mick?"

Mickey had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying, _All of them_. He looked up to see Ian holding the string in front of him, the balls now glistening in the lamp light. ”Most I’ve taken is four,” he said reluctantly. 

"I’ve got five ready," Ian said, counting. "Just in case. Okay?"

"Yeah." Mickey heard his voice shake a little as Ian disappeared from view again. A moment later he felt the heel of Ian’s palm rest on his left shoulder, then a smooth, slippery sensation pushing between his cheeks.

"You ready?"

Mickey nodded and buried his face against the bed. A gentle pressure began, and he tried to relax against it, biting his lip as the pressure grew firmer, more insistent. His hips began to rock forward; Ian’s free hand gripped his shoulder, holding him in place, and the first ball pushed through the ring. 

"Holy shit … " Ian whispered.

Mickey let out his breath. “Keep goin’.”

"Don’t worry." 

The pressure came again, this time added to the fullness that was already inside him. The second ball didn’t take quite as long to get through, but Mickey couldn’t help wriggling his ass as though to make room for it.

"You okay?"

Mickey nodded, squeezing his ass muscles to move the balls along, until — _fuck, there it was_! — the first one pushed against his prostate. His gasped and shuddered and lifted his head slightly. “ _Further_. Push it in more.”

He could feel Ian’s hesitancy. “You sure, man?”

Jesus, he loved that fullness. He’d missed it for so long. “Yeah … more. Hang on.”

It was hard to tell, now, but between his own clenching and what was likely a gentle push from Ian, the balls seemed to slide further along inside him. Mickey almost thought he could feel the swelling against his cock, now lying flat along his stomach. “One more,” he managed to grit out.

This time he could barely feel the bead’s entry; all his sensation focused on the tiny movements of the balls inside him. He breathed and rocked, back and forth, and squeezed the muscles of his ass, coaxing the string of beads further in, each tiny shift against his prostate sending a jolt of current through his system.

"Mickey … ?" Ian’s voice sounded distant and slightly awed. "You okay?"

With an effort, Mickey turned his head to the side and nodded, teeth grinding against each other. 

" … That’s it, right?" Ian asked, hesitantly.

Mickey nodded again, knowing he couldn’t last much longer. His legs wobbled, almost collapsing, and he wanted to reach back to touch his cock but there was no way he would stay upright if he moved an arm. 

"Now what?" Ian was asking. "I pull ‘em out?"

Mickey shook his head, faintly, thinking, _not yet_. His dick throbbed and dripped and the need for friction almost overwhelmed his sense of fullness. Once the beads came out it would be all over, and if he missed that moment he’d have to settle for his fist after all. 

And then, _holy shit_ , he felt Ian’s hand close around his cock. He groaned and pushed against it, and Ian responded, spreading fluid along the shaft and beginning to pump.

"Jesus Christ … fuck, yes … " Mickey thrust into Ian’s fist, the balls shifting minutely inside him, his whole body rocking. " _Now_.”

Ian’s fist stilled and closed tighter around the shaft. His other hand left Mickey’s shoulder and a second later came the first tug on the string. 

The beads slid roughly through his ass, as though scraping along the walls and nerve endings along the way, first one, then the other, then the last. Mickey shoved his face into the pillow to smother what might have been a groan, or a yell, or possibly a scream. As the last ball popped out, Ian pumped his fist and Mickey thrust only twice before he shot, a volley of come against Ian’s hand, the bed, his own stomach.

Then he collapsed on the bed, contractions still shuddering through his body.

After a couple of moments, he felt Ian’s fingers brushing tentatively against his shoulder. “Mickey?” Ian sounded a little worried. “You okay?”

Mickey laughed shakily. “Yeah, man.” With an effort, he turned over so he could look up at Ian. “ _That_ was _good_.”


End file.
